


In Which A Puckish Demon And A Happily Smitten Archangel Raise the Anti-Christ

by sweetNsimple



Series: Local Archangel Domesticated By The Creator Of The Original Sin And Reluctantly Happy About It [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley are Adam Young's Parents, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley is Raphael, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Slice of Life, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: Aziraphale and Raphael secretly raise Adam in the quiet English village of Tadfield.  If they don't muck up too badly, there's a slight chance they will avoid Armageddon.~::~“Our lovely self-appointed Neighborhood Watch dropped by again to whine about our son.”  Aziraphale twisted his head toward Raphael.  “Will he have an unfortunate accident or will you deal with this?”R.P. Tyler was an often-visited topic of theirs and it was never a good conversation.  That poor man would never realize how many times Raphael had saved, not only his life, but his entire garden from the paternal wrath of Aziraphale.





	In Which A Puckish Demon And A Happily Smitten Archangel Raise the Anti-Christ

The Anti-Christ, also known as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness, was having the mother of all temper tantrums. 

Aziraphale had had to step out for the day, necessary from time to time so that no one sent the Dukes of Hell to check on him.  He had also wanted some time to himself, perhaps to go looking for something new to read or just to inspire some minor sins.  In his place, Raphael was watching over the young Adam Fell. 

It should have been easy.  He was an archangel of the Lord, one of the Holy Seven, he who was spoken of in the Apocryphal Book of Tobit as the one who smote Asmodeus. 

It was not easy at all.

Sure, it had started out good enough.  Aziraphale had handed over their two-year old son, given them both a kiss – though the one he gave Raphael was much less appropriate – and skulked out the door to do business as usual.  

For the first few hours, Adam was full of giggles and laughter and love.  His favorite color was purple and he finger painted it all over the sitting room table, Raphael, and himself while squealing, “Grapes!”

Adam adored grape juice and, in spirit of them being purple, Raphael pulled them both out a sippy cup.  Adam hummed and sipped and got purple squiggles of paint on the kitchen walls.

Raphael possibly should have washed him off before getting them a snack.

No need for concern.  He’d just miracle away the mess before Aziraphale got back.

He was flying high on the peace of the moment until, suddenly, Adam put his sippy cup down on the floor and got the look on his face that said he had just thought of something profound. 

“Daddy!”  He waited a moment.  Concern flickered in his blue eyes.  It slowly morphed to terror as his dad failed to appear.  “DADDY!”  He _screamed_ this time and Raphael knew, deep down in his ethereal grace, that this was about to go supernova.  Adam sucked in a deep, deep breath and –

As if someone had cut his strings, he collapsed on the kitchen linoleum and wailed like an ambulance.  No, not quite like an ambulance – Adam was definitely louder.  He kicked, he hit, he overturned his grape juice, he shook, he turned purple in the face and, worst of all…

He wouldn’t let Raphael touch him.

“Nooooo,” he cried and wiggled away as Raphael tried to pick him up and comfort him.  “Daaaadddyyy!”  His heaving sobs were disintegrating into horrible, hacking coughs.  He was bound to make himself sick if he continued like this.

“My sweet boy,” Raphael tried to soothe.  “Adam, Adam, sweetie, look – look!  Papa’s got pretty wings!”  Out of sheer desperation, he manifested a set of his pearly white wings.  They were so large that they spanned the entire kitchen and his secondaries got soaked in spilled grape juice. 

Adam stopped everything immediately and stared. 

Raphael carefully reached under his son and curled him close to his chest.  “There, that’s it.  That’s right.”  Raphael had yet to meet a soul that could deny the euphoric rapture inspired by the physical manifestation of his heavenly Grace – “OW!  Oi, what the – Adam!” 

The toddler, giving truth to the often sourly muttered ‘terrible twosomes’ had grabbed fistfuls of coverts and was trying to yank them out.  Adam looked him dead in the eye.  “Want.  _Daddy_.”

Raphael was vaguely horrified.  “Is this a hostage negotatio?” he asked the toddler.  Adam’s fists clenched threateningly.  “Wait, listen – Adam, my sweet boy.  My very, very _good_ boy.  How about, how about a lullaby?  How about I sing you a lullaby?”  Adam’s bottom lip quivered.  Raphael knew something had to give and he was fervently hoping it wouldn’t be his feathers.  Although they were not _real_ feathers, they were still part of his Grace and it would hurt a Hell of a lot.  “How about I sing you a lullaby,” he bargained, “ _and_ – and!  Hear me out…  Ice cream.”

Adam glared at him for a long, tension-filled minute.  Finally, he sighed and petted Raphael’s wing.  He tucked himself into the coverts and scapulars, shutting his eyes.  Gingerly and with no small amount of anxiety, Raphael wrapped his one wing around the master negotiator that was his child and got to his feet.  He was a bit shaken by what had just happened, honestly.

Was this a manifestation of Adam’s evil core?  

He rubbed his boy’s back, terrified.

“Sorry,” said a tiny voice from within his wing.  “Bad.” 

Raphael glanced under his wing and Adam was pressing a sweet kiss to the feathers he had twisted.  Adam looked at him with sad eyes.  “Sorry.”

His concerns melted away.  This wasn’t a manifestation of Satan’s son.  This was just a two-year old boy who wanted his daddy.  For Heaven’s sake, _Raphael_ wanted Adam’s daddy too.  In the grand scheme of things, Raphael had done a lot worse than Adam just had and his wings were fine all the same.

He smiled at his little boy.  “It’s alright.  I miss him too.  Tell you what – we’ll stay up and wait for him.  How’s that, eh?  Sound good?”

Adam nodded.  “Yeah.” 

“Still want ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

“Still want that lullaby?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alright.”  He snapped his fingers and the mess of paint and grape juice disappeared.  “Let’s do that.” 

Later that night, more toward midnight, really, Aziraphale skulked into Jasmine Cottage and was floored by the scene he walked into.

The archangel Raphael of the Heavenly Host was sprawled across the sitting room couch with a tiny Adam Fell on his chest.  They were both fast asleep.

“What in Hell is this?” he hissed. 

There was an empty carton of ice cream on the table and chocolate smeared all over his son’s face.  From there, the chocolate stains had migrated to Raphael’s black sweater and had left long, brown streaks on the couch cushions.

He flicked Raphael’s forehead.  “What in Hell is this?” he repeated. 

Raphael startled awake.  “Oh, hey, love.  How was your day?”  He smiled winningly.  Their tiny child fit perfectly on his chest, as thin as Raphael was, and he was so blessedly handsome that Aziraphale wanted to climb him like a tree.

“Oh, bless it,” Aziraphale cursed.  He cleaned the mess and their son with a thought.  “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What, why?  What I’d do?”

“So very lucky,” Aziraphale growled and leaned down to press adoring kisses to his hopeless buffoon of a lover’s upturned face. 

~::~

It was Adam’s fifth birthday and Raphael was late.  Gabriel had wanted to talk about the legions of soldiers Raphael would lead in the coming war and to gloat about how they would undoubtedly win.  With no good excuse to leave, Raphael was forced to listen to his brother go on and on for hours.

Finally, he exploded.  “Yeah, that’s great, Gabriel.  That’s all great, just fantastic.  I’ve got to go, though – y’know, gotta get myself ready to shower terror and destruction down on the opposition.”

Gabriel laughed good-naturedly.  “You could benefit from some muscle gain,” he agreed.  “You’re definitely lean and mean, but I don’t know how ready you are to be a fighting machine.”  He clapped Raphael on the chest.  “Focus on buffing up your arms first.  All the better to swing your sword with.”

“Yeah, my sword, sure…”  With a jaunty wave, he left as quickly as possible before Gabriel could stop him.

He appeared outside the door to Jasmine Cottage, gift in hand.  The tension drained from him as he took in the familiar waves of love that radiated from his lover and their adopted (read: kidnapped) son. 

He opened the door and stepped inside.  “Hello?  Hey, sorry I’m late, but I’ve got…”

Angels, as a rule did not dance.  Demons did, however, though no one could call it _good_ dancing.

This, though.  This was priceless.  This was a treasure.

Raphael watched as Aziraphale swung all about the room, swishing and sashaying with Adam on his hip.  He dipped their squealing child and tossed him into the air and dipped him again, all to the tune of classical music.  The dancing was wildly out of place for the tune that was being set by the orchestra. 

Adam caught sight of him.  “Papa!” he squealed.  He reached out one hand and kept the other anchored in Aziraphale’s jacket.  “Dance with us!  You _have_ to, it’s my birthday.”

The demon did not completely come to a stop.  He more swayed in place, daring Raphael with a smile to join them.  “Oh, my dear boy,” he crooned to Adam, though his golden eyes never left Raphael.  “Papa doesn’t dance.  It goes against the order of things.”  His very tone was a challenge. 

“Papa _didn’t_ dance.  Before today, that is.”  He swished up to them and caught Adam in his arms, twirling and twirling and twirling…

When he finally twirled to a stop and Adam rested dizzily against his chest, giggling, Raphael glanced up and caught Aziraphale’s eye.  The demon looked at him with incredible Lust and overwhelming, undeniable, impossible amounts of Love. 

Adam said, “I don’t –” And promptly threw up two shades of ice cream and a good bit of what had been cake down Raphael’s chest. 

Aziraphale was of no help as he laughed uproariously.

~::~

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said.  “You’re here.  Prepare to be annihilated!”

“Dad, you can’t talk,” Adam said.  “ _You’ve_ been annihilated.”

“And _you’re_ next!” said Pepper, one of Adam’s friends.  She pointed a very real-looking sword at Raphael and swung it about.  “Beg for mercy!”

Raphael, who had just walked through the door with some groceries, carefully put his hands up in surrender.  “I have ice cream,” he said.  “You wouldn’t hurt the guy holding ice cream, would you?”

Aziraphale, laying on the floor with Adam’s tiny foot on his chest, snorted.  “Coward,” he said.

“Oh, and I suppose you put up a real fight, eh?”

“He surrendered as soon as we charged him,” Brian told him.  “Laid himself down and said we had annihilated him.”

Raphael gave Aziraphale a ‘See? You didn’t put up a fight either’ look, to which Aziraphale scowled.

“So, what did he do to get annihilated anyway?” Raphael asked.

“He taught us a new word,” Wensley said.  “And Adam said we should act it out so that we don’t forget it.”

“Let me guess the word…  Is it ‘annihilate’?”

Adam nodded.  “Yes, it is.  Now, we shall annihilate you and take the ice cream.  We’ll be like pirates!”

“The treasure is ours!” Brian yelled.

“We won’t eat too much of it, don’t worry,” Wensley assured him, brandishing a medieval flail with intimidatingly long spikes.

Adam raised his own sword and shrugged at Raphael.  “It’s nothing personal, papa.  A pirate’s got to do what a pirate’s got to do.”

“I’m sure I’ll forgive you someday.” 

In short order, he was forced to surrender and lay down next to Aziraphale, who had patiently folded his hands over his belly in death.  The children squabbled over who would pose triumphantly over Raphael’s corpse.

“We’ll _all_ do it together,” Adam decided.  “It was a team effort.”

Four little feet pushed down on his chest as the children each raised one arm victoriously to the ceiling.

“On 1… 2… 3…”

“Annihilation!” they screamed together.

“How long do we have to stay here?” he asked Aziraphale as the victorious pirate annihilators took off with the ice cream to the kitchen. 

Aziraphale rolled over on top of Raphael and kissed him.  “As long as we want.”  To the children, he called out, “Only one bowl each!”

“But we annihilated you!”

“Adam Fell!”

“ _Fine_ , dad.”

~::~

Raphael found his son by the sound of screaming.

“Mr. Fell!” Pepper screeched when Raphael appeared between the trees.  “It was an accident.  We swear.”

“We’re going to prison!” Brian wailed.  “I don’t want to go to prison!”

“We’re too _young_ to go to prison,” Wensley told him.

“That’s why I don’t want to go!”

“Children, please,” Raphael soothed.  “What appears to be the problem?”

It had begun like this:

Aziraphale had looked at the time and had commented that Adam was later than usual for supper.  Raphael had offered to go find their wayward son out in Hogback Wood, where he was known to play with his friends.

This was the scene he found himself in:

Pepper, Wensley, and Brian – also known as the Them by this time in their lives – were in tears, snot and dirt on their faces, all of them a mess.  They ranged from eight to nine years old and were hardly taller than his hip.  They were standing in front of the prone figure of Adam Fell, the Anti-Christ. 

“We were having a tree climbing contest,” Pepper was yowling.  “And Adam went too high and then he _fell_ and now he won’t wake up.”

Raphael gently touched her forehead and she calmed. 

“Let me take a look.  It will be alright.”

Weeping, shaking, and very scared, the Them moved aside. 

His son was sprawled across fallen leaves.  Blood leaked from the back of his head and he was as pale as bones.  When Raphael checked for a pulse, he found it to be shallow, but blessedly present.

“Just rang his own bell a bit,” he assured the other children.  “He’ll be fine once he wakes up.”  He gently stroked the side of his son’s face and color returned to him.  He breathed easier and all evidence of blood disappeared. 

Adam’s eyes fluttered and then opened as he groaned.  “Papa?”

“Hey, there.”  Raphael smiled.  “Did you win the tree climbing contest at least?”

Adam smiled.  “I did – at least, I think I did.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Pepper said.  “We had to cancel it because you fell, so there are no winners.” 

“Then we have to have a rematch,” Adam declared, getting to his feet and rearing to go again.

“Another day,” Raphael stated.  “It’s time for supper.  Your dad wants you home.”

“But, papa…  Just, once more?  Please?”  Adam’s blue eyes got impossibly big and impossible to deny. 

“Oh…”  Raphael sucked in a long, thoughtful lungful of air.  He expelled it on a, “Alright.  Just one more time.  Given that your friends want to have a rematch?  You scared them a bit.”

“Rematch!” Brian hollered.

“I might stay on the ground this time,” Wensley said.  “I’ll be a judge.  Mr. Fell, would you like to judge with me?”

Raphael ruffled Adam’s wild hair and gave him a pat on the back before he went to his starting position.  “I’d love to.  Besides, best I stay in case anyone else bonks their head.  It’s always smart to have a medic around.”

“Are you?  Are you a medic?”  Pepper scrunched her face at him.  “Is that why you’re gone all the time?”

The archangel of the Lord didn’t know how to tell her that he wasn’t home as often as he wished in order to protect his small family from the Heavenly Host.  “Something like that,” he agreed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam told the Them.  “I’ll be nine tomorrow.  Papa’s always here for my birthday and all the important days.  And he lets me stay up as late as I want, even though dad says I should go to sleep early so I’m not grumpy in the morning.”  He looked up at Raphael with pure adoration.  “Papa’s the best.  After dad, that is.” 

The archangel felt that he might choke on the emotions this boy roused in him.  “And you’re the best boy a papa could ask for, my sweet boy.”

Wensley frowned at them.  “I don’t know…  I feel that _my_ father is the best, and he says that _I_ am the best boy a father could ask for.” 

Brian huffed.  “Are we doing this rematch or not?  If we’re not, I’m going home.”

“Watch me, papa?” Adam asked.

“Always.”

~::~

Adam had just turned ten and Aziraphale’s presence was politely requested at primary school.

“So you’re the religious zealot who told Adam that the Universe is only six thousand years old despite overwhelming amounts of scientific evidence proving otherwise,” was the first thing that was said to him when he stepped into the principal’s office.  The principal herself had obviously been terrorized into silence before Aziraphale had even appeared in the parking lot.

There were two seats before the principal’s desk.  One had Adam in it and the other had been left empty.  Mrs. Tolling, a Key Stage 2 teacher for children ages seven to eleven, was skulking about as good as any demon Aziraphale had ever seen.

“The dinosaurs are more of a joke, really,” he demurred as he took his seat.  He brought a comforting hand down Adam’s back.  “What is all this about?”

Mrs. Tolling was near foaming at the mouth.  “Your son,” she hissed, “called me horrid names during class.”

“She said that the Universe is billions of years old,” Adam defended himself.  “She called me horrid names first.  Said I was a dunce.”

Aziraphale very slowly looked up at the teacher.  “You called my son a what.”

“That is a problem,” Miss Hope, the principal, said.  “Mrs. Tolling, you can’t –”

“Oh, shut up!  The boy’s lying.  He called me a lazy sod.  Said that I shouldn’t teach if I didn’t know anything.”  She was trembling with rage.  “I say, he is a dunce, and I want you to know, Mr. Fell, that it is because of your bad parenting.”

The demon combed his fingers through Adam’s hair.  The boy was sniffling. 

“Mrs. Tolling,” he said in his most syrupy voice.  “Let’s discuss the real problem – why you are actually upset.  It has very little to do with Adam, though I am sure that it stung just a bit to be outwitted by my clever boy.”

She sputtered in indignation. 

“The real problem is that the gym teacher, Mr. Dursley, is expecting a child with his wife.”

“Yes, and we are all very excited for his family,” Miss Hope said uncomfortably, completely oblivious to the way Mrs. Tolling has frozen in place.  “I don’t see how that could be a problem.”

“Please,” Mrs. Tolling begged.  “Don’t.”

Aziraphale smiled, nice and slow.  “You see, it’s a problem because he and Mrs. Tolling here have been having a passionate affair for half a year now.  He promised to leave her for you, didn’t he?”  He tutted.  “Poor girl.  You were just another notch on his belt before he went home to the missus.” 

The silence was deep, profound, and full of pain.

“Mrs. Tolling…”  Miss Hope stopped, uncertain of what to say.

“Of course,” Aziraphale added helpfully.  “You two may stay and discuss it in detail.  After all, this time last year, it was Miss Hope that he was dallying with.  He has played you both for suckers.  Well, you two and others.  I would suggest therapy to discuss your emotional state instead of taking to punishing the children in your care.  The short end of it is that, if I ever hear you take out your relationship problems on my son again, I will be having words.  Perhaps with you or perhaps with everyone around you.  That would be dreadful, wouldn’t it?”  He got to his feet and straightened out his jacket.  “Ta.  Come along, Adam.”

Adam, looking at Aziraphale as if he was the most amazing person that ever existed, hopped off his chair and followed quickly behind like a duckling.  At the parking lot, Aziraphale had Adam point out Mrs. Tolling’s car to him.

“It will be a day or two before she realizes anything is different,” he explained to Adam as they continued forward.  He had cursed the car to honk ‘adulterer!’ every time Mrs. Tolling pressed down on the horn.  He had heard rumors of her road rage and felt that this change would have a significant impact on her behavior.

“That was incredible, dad,” Adam said.  “How did you know all that?”

“I have my ways.” 

“Do you think I can do that someday?”

Aziraphale twisted his head to look at him.  “Do what, exactly?”

“Find out people’s deepest, darkest secrets and use them to be nice to people?  Or to punish them when they’re not!”

At the end of the driveway leading to the school, Aziraphale came to a stop.  He turned his entire body around and slowly got to one knee before his son.

“You rather like the idea of being like me someday, don’t you?” he asked.

“Of course, dad.  You’re the coolest.”

“Do you know that that makes me indescribably sad?”

Adam’s smile faltered.  “What?”

Aziraphale cupped his son’s face in one hand.  “I have caused and been blamed for so many terrible acts against humanity.  Some would say that I created evil.”

“But you’re not evil,” Adam swore.  “You’re the best.”

“Yes, well…  I’m also the worst.  I don’t really want to be.  I never asked to be.  But I am what I am and I can’t change that.  If I could, I would in a heartbeat, I’d give up almost anything to be what I once was.  Sadly, I will never have that choice.”  He stared just past Adam for a moment, expression twisted in sorrow. 

Then he looked at Adam and smiled with love.  “But you… Adam.  You are new.  You are so young and impressionable, so full of imagination and dreams.  You can become anything you want.  If you want, someday, to punish the wicked, then there is nothing I can do to stop you.  But I hope that you listen to me now when I say that I want you to be better than me.  To do better than me.  I want you to…  To, well…  Be more like your father.  He is righteous and just and Holy.  Good to his core.  I’ve heard him be called an angel.”

“He lets me eat anything I want and stay up as late as I want when you’re not home.”

“Yes, well, no one said he was an authoritative figure.  You know, I always thought I would be the fun parent, the do-as-you-will father.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I can’t be the stern father.  I can’t be the one to tell you to make good choices and be good.  This is above my pay grade.  Lightyears above my pay grade, literally.”

Adam put his arms around his shoulders and hugged him.  “I don’t care for these lazy sods that say you make trouble.  I don’t like them much at all.  You’re my dad and I think you’re the best dad in the whole world.  I know that, no matter what I do, you’ll be proud of me.  Won’t you?”

“Whether you become Prime Minister or destroy the Universe.”  Aziraphale returned his hug.  “I will always be on your side, Adam.  You and your father are the only two people in all of Creation that I care for.”

“Maybe I will become Prime Minister,” Adam said.  “And do good things.  You know what would help me do good things?”

“We are not getting you another pet.”  Adam groaned and sighed and whined.  “No!  You never keep them.  You’ve had cats and hamsters and chinchillas and lions and wolves and dogs and you turn them all away.”

“They’re never right,” Adam complained.  “They’re never the right one.  It has to be a dog and it has to be the right dog.”

Aziraphale got to his feet.  “Very soon now, I’m sure that the right dog will come running up to you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do.  And, when it does, I hope that you give it a lovely, good name and treat it with kindness.”

“I will, dad.  I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear boy.  I always will.”

~::~

“Our lovely self-appointed Neighborhood Watch dropped by again to whine about our son.”  Aziraphale twisted his head toward Raphael.  “Will he have an unfortunate accident or will you deal with this?”

Raphael sat at the kitchen table, mixing blue dye into homemade frosting.  Adam’s eleventh birthday cake was a masterful sculpture of a dragon curled into itself, wings carved into its red velvet back.  R.P. Tyler was an often-visited topic of theirs and it was never a good conversation.  That poor man would never realize how many times Raphael had saved, not only his life, but his entire garden from the paternal wrath of Aziraphale.

“I’ll talk to him,” he offered.  “It would look bad if people started having unfortunate accidents so close to our home.”

Though, as far as Heaven and Hell were concerned, it was only Aziraphale’s home.  Raphael had never been in Tadfield a day in his long existence.  If asked to point it out on a map, Raphael was dutifully inclined to point to somewhere in Scotland.  America, if he felt he could get away with the fib.  As a matter of fact, Raphael had supposedly lost track of Aziraphale altogether.  It didn’t matter – Armageddon was days away and Heaven could care less about the Creator of the Original Sin.  The Heavenly Host was operating under the blissfully ignorant assumption that, come the apocalypse, all demons would get their due. 

The excuse that Head Office or Downstairs would notice _now_ of all times that a demon was making accidents occur in a seemingly unimportant little English village was just that – an excuse.  It wouldn’t be long before every human had an unfortunate accident – cooked in the boiling sea, riddled with cancer from nuclear war, starved to death under the gleeful eye of Famine.  Poisoned water, flames, toxic air, gunfire, and such. 

In short, Aziraphale could take the whole village to task and no one would so much as send a half-hearted rude note.  And Hell was _never_ so merciful as to send rude notes.  It was more by personal preference that Raphael didn’t like it when Aziraphale arranged ‘unfortunate accidents’ and didn’t like how self-deprecating Aziraphale got afterward either.

“Where is the birthday boy?” Raphael asked.  His tone was very careful.

“Playing in the woods,” Aziraphale chirped.  He positively glowed when he added, “With the _Them_.” 

The demon liked the Them very much.  Pepper, Brian, and Wensley were appropriately wicked and rambunctious for their age and they all loyally followed Adam into all sorts of low-grade mischief.  Adam himself had a vivid imagination and created wonderful games for them all to play together. 

When he had been younger, Aziraphale and Raphael had been required to play those games with him.  Often, the two adult-shaped occult beings had been giants or monsters or dragons and the Them would have to slay them.  Tiny feet had often stepped triumphantly onto Raphael’s chest as he had played mortally wounded or definitely dead. 

Raphael missed those days.  Now, Adam was much too old to play make-believe with his _dads_ of all creatures.  He had such wise, old blue eyes. 

“You sure you want him out of our sight, today of all days?”

“Really, it’s almost necessary.”

Raphael glanced at him.  “Why’s that?”

“Hell is sending him a hellhound.  The biggest we have.”

“Yes, I know,” he said.  As an archangel, he was privy to such information.  “That’s why I’m wondering.  If Adam’s with us, we can stop the hellhound.”  It was sound logic.

“We can’t.”  It was a simple fact of life, with no more inflection than if Aziraphale was telling him that the weather was acceptable.  “We could try, but it wouldn’t end well for us.”

“You think a hellhound could best me, an _archangel_ , in a fight?”

“It would certainly best me.”  The demon’s round, golden eyes pinned him in place.  “And Hell will not be issuing any new bodies this close to the End of Days.”

“So, then, you stay with Adam and I’ll take on the –”

“You’re a fool if you think I would let you stand alone against the most ferocious and bloodthirsty beast Hell has to offer.  Besides, what if it hurts you?  Hellhounds are the souls of beaten and savage dogs molded in Infernal Flames.  You know what Infernal Flames do to angels, even one of your class.” 

Raphael dutifully began slathering on the frosting.  The next step would be meticulously shaping scales.  “What do we do?” he asked.

“If we raised Adam right,” Aziraphale began, and his tone of voice suggested that they _had_ , “he will turn the hound away unnamed and that will be the end of it.”

“And if he names it?”

The demon pursed his lips and finished shaving the horns of the dragon, tucking crumbs of cake into his mouth as he went.  “I will stand with my son no matter what.”

“He’s not _your_ son,” the archangel reminded him softly.  It was best to distance themselves.  “He’s not our son.  If this all goes pear-shaped and he brings about the apocalypse, you’ve got to remember – he is _Satan’s_ son.”

“Oh, please.  He never even sent child support.  Not a single birthday card!  No letter, no anything.  The King of Hell has been the King of Bad Parenting!”

“How do you know?  As far as everyone else thinks, the Anti-Christ is with the Dowling family.”

“I was given the small task of checking in on Warlock every now and again.  That child is completely normal in every sense of the word and has never once interacted with my Master in any capacity.  I had to tell Ligur and Hastur that he’s committed murder ten times, once every year since his birth, and that he shall do so again before Armageddon.”  Aziraphale shook his head.  “I won’t be able to fool them any longer.  The hellhound will find Adam.  I just hope that we have a few more days before Downstairs realizes that Warlock is the wrong boy.”

Raphael reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand in his.  He brought it to his mouth and pressed soft, warm kisses to the demon’s knuckles.  Aziraphale watched breathlessly.

“I love you, you know that.  Don’t you?”

“I believe it a little more every time you say it,” the demon admitted, eyes focused on Raphael’s lips. 

“If Adam comes into his full powers, it won’t matter who raised him.  It won’t matter who did and didn’t send him birthday cards.  He will _destroy_ you.  He’ll destroy everything.  It was what he was born to do.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away and twisted his head to check the clock above the doorway.  “Would you look at the time.  It says that now is when you leave before I bludgeon you with my heaviest skillet half to discorporation.”    

“I can’t lose you, tempter,” Raphael said instead of taking the warning for what it was.  “I just pray that this all works out.”

“Don’t you care for him?  Even a little?  Adam is… _our_ son.  We’ve raised him together.  Don’t you care?”

“I care,” Raphael said.  “I love him.”  And this was true.  Adam meant so much to him that he was overflowing with love for the boy.  Being with Adam and Aziraphale as one small family had fulfilled dreams of his he had never known he had.  But all dreams came to an end.  Sometimes, they became nightmares.

As the years had gone by and the Anti-Christ had grown into a mischievous little boy, he had been slowly drowning in a sense of foreboding.  He feared the child and had come to terms with the fact that he may have to do something drastic to stop the apocalypse that Aziraphale and himself would never forgive him for.

To see the light leave those blue eyes, to never hear his son giggle and laugh again, to never craft around the sitting room table with him as Adam came up with outrageous stories about aliens and sea monsters and pirates in space…  It hurt too much to think about, but he thought about it nonstop nonetheless. 

Because Aziraphale did look moments away from sending him out the door, Raphael quieted and continued with his cake-decorating duties.  The scales, Aziraphale had claimed, would be easy enough for him to do.  The Damned demon hadn’t mentioned how bloody _time consuming_ it would be as well and Raphael groaned petulantly when he figured it out for himself. 

“He’ll love it,” Aziraphale crooned, working on the dragon’s yellow eyes.  “He’ll be so pleased.  We’ll send the Them home with the happiest tummy aches and their parents will be _so_ upset with us.”

“Is that really a good thing?”

“It will just make them try harder for their own children.”

Given that their children would get to have another birthday.  Raphael wisely said nothing of the sort.

They stepped away once it was finished.  It really was magnificent and nearly the size of the table to boot. 

“There’s no way they’re going to eat all of that.”

“I can finish off what they don’t get to,” Aziraphale offered graciously.

“Ah, yes.  ‘Course.”

“They won’t be home for a bit longer, I believe.  I told him tea time after all, so he will be back at least another hour after that.”  Aziraphale was smiling.  His hands grasped the archangel’s and he licked frosting from Raphael’s fingers.  “What do you say to some… adult time, my dear?” 

Those pink lips wrapped around his thumb and _sucked_. 

It hit Raphael that this might be one of the last opportunities they get to make love.

Hastily, he lifted Aziraphale into his arms and raced up the stairs.

“Impatient!” the demon was cackling.  “Has no one ever told you that patience is a virtue?”  His back thumped against the memory foam of their canopy bed.  The curtain had saved their dignity more than once when Adam was younger and prone to walking into their room in the middle of the night.

His insides squirmed as he thought of a tiny Adam, wrought with nightmares – _“Can I sleep with you, papa?”_

He closed the curtain against the world and the future and sealed himself in a cocoon of denial with his amorous demon.

Sometimes, being an archangel meant making choices that no one else wanted to.  Even himself.

~::~

Afterward, he laid curled around Aziraphale.  His nose was tucked into pale-blonde hair that really did seem to be feathers as close as he was.  He traced long fingers over the demon’s soft side and along the curve of his bum.  He was pondering whether or not to push his mortal shell to go another time, to make this memory all the sweeter before the future of the Universe was cast in stone by his son naming a dog.

“You were rough that time,” Aziraphale complained.  For a demon of Hell, he drew very little pleasure from pain.  He was, of course, always eager to leave bite marks and scratches and bruises on Raphael, but that was a mutual desire. 

“Sorry, love.”  When he next traced his hand down the line of Aziraphale’s back, he took away his deep aches.  He was chagrined to realize that he had torn Aziraphale’s sphincter with his lack of proper preparation. 

“You’ll make it up to me,” the demon promised.  His wide palms were already massaging Raphael’s buttocks, fingers slipping down the crack to rub at his hole.  Apparently, Raphael was not the only one gearing up for another round.

The realization gave him pause.  “You _are_ worried.”

Aziraphale froze. 

“You are!”

“I think it’s only fair.”  The demon tucked his head under Raphael’s chin.  “Adam’s always wanted a dog.  Specifically _this_ dog.  I haven’t been able to sway him, not even once.” 

Raphael was reminded of several occasions and several different animals in the house.  There had been a cat that had made Adam cry every time they were in the same room.  Following had been three different dogs of different sizes and personalities and Adam had thrown temper tantrums every time, screaming “It’s not the _right_ dog!”  Raphael felt that there had been a number of other animals, but they were there and gone before he ever witnessed them. 

More likely than not, it had been wired into him to want, not just _a_ dog, but a hellhound.

“You think he’s going to name it?”

There was a telling silence.

“You _know_ he’s going to name it.” 

“There is power in a name,” the demon whispered.  “So much power.  If he gives it the _right_ name…”

“He’ll still come into his power, though, won’t he?”  Suddenly indescribably _furious_ , he rolled out of bed and threw aside the curtain.  “You’ve made it sound like there’s no chance of that happening!”

“I’m a demon,” Aziraphale murmured, not getting up.  “I lie.”

“Not to me, you don’t.”

“I do when I feel you might do something horrid that we both will never forgive you for.”

Raphael went cold, inside and out. 

“He is our son.  He will name the dog – hopefully, something kind and benevolent, or something completely human and normal – and he will have the power to shape reality.  He doesn’t _have_ to start the apocalypse.”

“It’s what he was born to do.”

“He doesn’t know that.  He’s just a normal boy with normal friends who likes to make up games and play in the woods.  He isn’t Heaven Incarnate, I’ll give you that, but he isn’t Hell Incarnate either.  He is _Human_ Incarnate and that means there is hope.”

“He was _born_ to start Armageddon!  How do you expect him to stop Heaven and Hell from having their war, the Four horsepeople of the Apocalypse from riding, and the destruction of the Universe?”

“If you truly believe that he is capable of destroying everything, then he must be capable of saving everything as well.”

“It’s a lot harder to fix something than it is to break it.”

Aziraphale did not say a word.  Instead, he sat up next to Raphael.  In his hand was his favorite mug, the one he reserved for hot cocoa.  It had been a gift from Raphael shortly after he had secretly moved in.  The mug was white ceramic and the handle was a pair of wings – some might misconstrue them for angel wings, but Raphael thought of them more as those belonging to an owl, or a certain demon of owl traits.  The mug had been existing contently in the kitchen cupboard with all the other mugs and cups until the moment Aziraphale summoned it to hand.

Aziraphale twisted his head and stared at Raphael as he stood up on the unforgiving hardwood floor.

He dropped the mug and it shattered.

The destruction of it felt unbearable, like the time Aziraphale had left behind the copy of _Pride & Prejudice_ that Raphael had gotten him.  It felt like a sign that he was being told to leave and he would not be welcomed back. 

His throat shut tight and he thought his human body might traitorously being to weep.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the mug appeared in his outstretched hand, whole and without a crack.  “Not for us,” Aziraphale said.  “Not for him.”  He cupped Raphael’s jaw in his free hand and his thumb dragged over his bottom lip.  “Even when it is difficult to fix something that is broken, that doesn’t make it impossible to fix.  Do you recall when you shattered our relationship with your gay panic?”

“I wouldn’t call it _that_.”

“Do you remember every horrid thing you said to drive me away so that you could continue to feel holier than thou and unspoiled?”

“I did it to protect you too, you have to know that.”

“Do you?”

Raphael was caught in the golden gaze of his lover and did not dare blink.  “Yes.”

Aziraphale sat on his lap, knees on either side of his hips.  “So you must remember hunting me down to seek forgiveness and fix the mess you made.  You simply must.”

“I’m still seeking forgiveness,” said the archangel of Heaven to the Creator of the Original Sin.

“I forgive you,” said the Creator of the Original Sin, an unforgivable demon. 

“What if Adam ends the Universe?” Raphael asked.  He knew what he would do if worse came to worse, but he would give anything not to.  He worried that Aziraphale’s plan was to do nothing.

“I can’t hurt him,” the demon admitted.

It wasn’t because Adam was the son of Satan, his Master.  It was because Adam was _his_ son. 

Raphael rested his head against Aziraphale’s collarbone.  “Well, love,” he said.  “Hope for the best, pray in case of the worst.”

“You are awfully pessimistic for an angel, have I told you that?”

~::~

“His name is Dog,” Adam announced.  There was a tiny terrier at his heels, looking up at them with big brown eyes.  “Can I keep him?” 

“You were made for each other,” Aziraphale crooned.  The Them were stuffing their faces with an unhealthy amount of cake, all except for Wensley who had served himself a serving size portion.  “I could never say no to you.” 

The dog, who had walked through the front door and under the now very tired horseshoe that was meant to ward off evil, stared guilelessly up at the demon as if it hardly even recognized the scent of Evil anymore. 

He did, however, recognize the scent of Heaven and kept himself between Raphael and Adam at all times.  It was likely that he had been scent trained to identify angels so that he could protect his Master from the Heavenly Host should they try to off him as soon as Armageddon was underway.

Raphael found it depressingly understandable.  When Dog bit him that night as he went to tuck Adam in, he didn’t even hold a grudge against the hellhound.  Adam all but wept, afraid that they would have to put Dog down.

“It’s alright,” Raphael soothed him.  Dog, sensing his Master’s fear and sorrow, did not dare harm the archangel again as Raphael pulled his son into his arms and rocked them back and forth.  “I’ll be fine.  Good as new in the morning.” 

Regardless of Aziraphale’s fears about Raphael and dogs forged in Infernal Flames, Raphael was the first healer in all of Creation.  He would be fine by morning.  Not wanting Aziraphale to worry needlessly, he wore a sweater to bed and said nothing of it.

~::~

It was mere hours later as he writhed under the blankets that he realized how wrong he was.  His entire right arm was rotting, flames dancing from holey bones.  The sleeve had completely burned away and there were scorch marks on the bed.  There was a fire inside of him, burning its way to his chest.  He could have screamed from the agony and would have had Aziraphale not wrapped his hands around his arm where it burned the worst.  His touch felt refreshingly cool. 

“Oh, my dear boy,” he whispered, voice full of sorrow.  “I warned you.  This isn’t a wound you can heal, you foolish _twit_.”

“I’m going to be discorporated, then,” he wheezed.  He would rather not.  Heaven was not likely to issue him a new body so close to the apocalypse. 

“I have another solution.”  Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his brow.  “I will be right back, darling.”

And he was.  In his hands was a thermos that Raphael barely remembered having seen once. 

“What is that?” he asked.  Or, at the least, he tried to.  Everything hurt and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten.  The room was simultaneously too hot and too cold.  He could only mumble nonsensically.

“Come into the bathroom, my dear.”  Raphael tried, but his human body was failing.  Aziraphale had to pick him up and carry him.  “Get into the tub.  There’s a good boy.  You’re doing so well, darling.” 

“’Ziraphale?”  He stared blearily at the thermos.  Aziraphale had put on a rubber apron and was wearing thick, waterproof gloves that went all the way up to his elbows.  “What?”

“I had hoped you could do this yourself…  No matter.  This might hurt.”  Aziraphale stroked back his hair with one gloved hand.  “A great deal.”

“What wi-” And he bit straight through his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming as crystal clear water bathed the festering wound.  His body twisted in unnatural ways as agony tore through him and he punched a hole through the wall and kicked a foot through the ceramic tub and – _For Heaven’s Sake, that HURT_. 

The last sensation he felt was of hitting something and then he mercifully went unconscious. 

~::~

Raphael woke up slowly to the sound of sobbing. 

“Adam?”

Feeling as if he was swimming through cotton and pushing against the weight of the Universe, he forced his eyes open.  It took a long moment for the bathroom to come into focus and longer to recognize the clear, pure scent of Holy Water.

That, he realized, was what Aziraphale had gotten from the Nazis back in 1941.  But why had he wanted it?  What had it been for? 

Abruptly, he recalled his wound.  His head snapped up from the lip of the tub and he turned his arm over one way and the other.  Not a scratch in sight.  He felt fine.

He released a sigh of relief as he pushed himself up.  The tub was mostly destroyed, but he could fix that with a snap of his –

“Adam,” he said again, frowning at his crying son.  “What’s wrong?  What’s happened?”  He looked about.  It did indeed look like a savage fight had occurred in the tub, but that surely would have gotten Adam excited for a good story more than looking like his world had just ended.  Dog was held tightly to the boy’s chest. 

“ _Dad_ ,” Adam sobbed, but that was wrong.  Adam never called him dad.  He was papa, or father if he had to lay down the rules and Adam didn’t want to follow them. 

“What’s wrong with your dad?” he asked. 

“I heard him screaming,” he blubbered, and it was hard to understand him at first.  “What did you _do_?”

“What did I –?”  He looked down.  The thermos that had held the Holy Water laid empty on top of a pile of pajamas and Aziraphale’s protective gear. 

He had hit something before he had passed out.  What had he hit?  What had he _done_?

“No,” he whispered, reality crashing down onto him with such horrible force that he felt he might be shattered under it.  “No, no, _no_!  _AZIRAPHALE_!” 

He scrambled out of the tub and kicked the thermos through the bathroom wall.  He dashed from room to room, inconsolably hoping to find the demon in any of them.  It was a misunderstanding.  At worst, it was a horrible joke.  Either way, Aziraphale couldn’t be _destroyed_. 

“Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you?!” 

He collapsed at the kitchen table, sobbing.  “Love?” he whispered.  There was no answer.

“Where’s dad?” asked a tiny, broken voice from behind him.  “Where is he?  What did you _do_?”

“Adam.”  Tears were falling down his face.  He tried to wipe them away.  “Adam, my sweet boy.”  He reached for the child.  “He’s – he’s gone.  He’s – _dead_.”  Raphael had destroyed him.  He must have – yes, he must have hit the Holy Water straight into Aziraphale.  And he would have died a horribly painful death as Raphael had laid free of pain and unconscious in the tub.

“NO.”  Adam pulled away.  One hand was curled into Dog’s fur and the other hugged the hound tightly.  The child vehemently shook his head in denial.  “He _can’t_ be.  He’s my _dad_ , he wouldn’t just leave me.”

“I know he didn’t want to.  He loved you so, so much…” 

“He’s not gone!”

“Bless it, Adam, he is!”

Adam’s eyes glowed red.  **“NO, HE’S NOOOT.”**

The house quaked and shook.  Cracks spiderwebbed across the wall and Raphael’s chair shattered, sending him to the ground.  He laid sprawled on the floor, staring solemnly up at his son.

The boy hiccupped and collapsed into Raphael’s waiting arms.

“I’m sorry,” Raphael said.  “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all Dog’s fault, isn’t it?” Adam snapped, heaving for breath.  “This only happened because _Dog’s_ here.” 

Dog’s ears flew back and he wore on his tiny face such guilt and fear that Raphael could not be angry.  Aziraphale had told him that hellhounds were just beaten and savage dogs, made to walk through the hottest flames in all of Creation.  Dog had probably had enough torture and abuse to last him for the rest of eternity without his new Master, who so kindly named him and let him sleep in his comfy bed and who fed him treats by hand, hating him.

“No,” Raphael said.  “No, he didn’t – It’s my fault.  I killed my best friend.  The love of my life.  The best dad in the world.  Adam, I’m so sorry.”  He wanted to blame Dog.  If Dog hadn’t bitten him…  Then Aziraphale wouldn’t have…

In the end, it didn’t matter.  The result was the same.

“I’m so sorry, Adam.”

They curled up together on the kitchen floor, a miserable ball of anguish and loss, and Dog whined and rested his head sadly on Raphael’s chest. 

“I don’t feel so good,” said a familiarly posh voice.  “So someone else may have to explain why my two favorite boys are mopping the floor with their tears.” 

Adam’s head shot up.  “Dad?”

Aziraphale smiled uncertainly.  “Yes, I…  do believe it’s me.” 

“Aziraphale?” Raphael whispered. 

Dog yipped and excitedly sniffed the demon. 

“Papa said you were dead!” Adam screamed.  He launched to his feet and threw himself around Aziraphale’s waist, hugging him close and sobbing into his belly.  “I heard you screaming!”

“I, well, it appears that…”  Aziraphale stared at Raphael with haunted, lost eyes.  “I was destroyed.  And then you shaped reality so that I wasn’t destroyed.”

“I – I – I did what?”

“Adam,” the demon murmured in his softest voice.  He cupped Adam’s face in his hands and tilted his chin up.  “Now might be the best time for your papa and I to tell you that…  You’re adopted.  And other things as well.”

“I figured as much,” Adam sniffled.  “Mr. Tyler said that two men can’t have babies together.” 

Raphael thought that he might want to get off the ground and embrace his small family, but he wasn’t sure if what he saw was true.

The demon gave him a nervous smile.  _Nervous_.  “Come along, my dear boys.  I’ll gab us some hot cocoa and we can retire to the sitting room.  We have much to discuss.” 

~::~

Adam did not go to sleep until it was almost morning.  He had been deeply troubled as he had crawled into bed and Aziraphale had tucked him in. 

“Understandable, of course,” the demon said.  He sighed.  “I had hoped to let him figure it out as he went.  At least, it seemed a better course of action than to let him fret about it.  It’s the waiting that’s going to send us to the apocalypse, a bored and antsy eleven-year old with the Universe on his shoulders and such.” 

Raphael could say something to the effect of ‘we probably should have been preparing him for this day since the day you kidnapped him’ or, alternatively, ‘it’s not really free will unless you lay out all the choices for him’. 

He said nothing as he laid next to Aziraphale in bed.  It was too close to dawn for them to go to sleep, but it was habit to be in bed together when the sun came up. 

The demon sat ramrod straight on the side of the bed, back to Raphael.  At a loss of what else to do, he reached out and pressed his hand flat between Aziraphale’s shoulders, feeling the heat of his body, the physical proof of his existence. 

Aziraphale sighed.  “I know, darling.  I know.”

“You were destroyed?”  Raphael’s voice was more of a raw croak than anything.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered as if the truth really was painful.

“I destroyed you?”

“No.”

“I did, I know I did.  I – the thermos, you, that was…”

“Not your fault.”

“I can’t lose you.  I’ve existed beside you for so much longer than I ever was alone.  What would I do without you?”

“Your heavenly duties as an archangel, I suppose.”

“Please don’t joke right now, I am having a _moment_.”

“I remember dying.” 

The silence was full of things that did not ever want to be said.

“And I remember, quite suddenly, existing again.  Right there, still by the tub, wearing my pajamas in a puddle of water.”  He twisted his head to look down at Raphael.  “I’m not what I used to be.  I feel that I am… different now.” 

There was uncertainty there.  A touch of fear. 

Raphael pulled Aziraphale down and into his arms.  “You feel the same to me, love.  My sweet tempter.  My unholy pain in the arse.” 

“You say the kindest things.”

They stayed there in bed until, without meaning to, they fell asleep.  Armageddon was days away and Adam stared at the wall that separated him from his parents.  Dog licked his Master’s face in the hope of soothing the boy and Adam held him close, needing the comfort that Dog offered. 

Whatever was on Adam’s mind was ineffable. 

~::~

Raphael woke up to the knowledge that he was alone in bed.  They had never closed the curtain and so afternoon sunlight filtered directly into his face to give him a forceful and cheery wakeup call.

The moment he reached out and realized that he was alone, he shot out of bed and into panic.  “AZIRAPHALE?!”  What if part of last night had been a dream?  What if Aziraphale was still extinct and Adam had never brought him back to life?  “Aziraphale?”

He nearly fell down the stairs and yanked the front door open –

And it shut itself before he could leap across the threshold.

Not quite thinking straight just yet, he forced it open again,

And the door swung back hard enough to hit him in the face before it indignantly shut itself. 

“I told dad to go for a walk,” Adam said from the couch.  His impossible blue eyes stared at Raphael.  “I thought it would be best if we talked without him.”

“Adam?  Adam, what are you doing?”

“You’re afraid of me,” said his son.  “I can feel it.  You’ve been a little afraid of me my whole life.”

The archangel realized that he was toeing an unseen precipice.  There was a bomb in his hands and if he did not carefully handle it, it would detonate and destroy everything he loved. 

He stopped breathing completely and held himself still, waiting for Adam to set his terms and conditions. 

“I worry, is all,” Raphael said and it was not entirely a lie.

“You think you can kill me to save the Universe if you have to.”

He was slow and reluctant to ask, “Do I have to?”

“The thing is, you can’t.”

Dog sat demurely at Adam’s feet, staring up at Raphael.  The archangel glanced at the hellhound.

“Not because of Dog,” Adam clarified.  “Not because I’d fight back and win.  Doesn’t even have anything to do with dad.  You’re my papa.  You can’t kill me because you love me too much.”

Raphael shut his eyes against the truth. 

“You could have let me die when I was eight.  When I fell out of the tree.  I was dying.  You saved my life.”

“I couldn’t…  You’re my son.  You’re _our_ son.” 

“Even though I might start the apocalypse and destroy everything you love?”

He took careful steps to Adam’s side and sat down next to him.  Dog watched him without even a growl. 

“You’re one of the things I love most about the Universe,” Raphael admitted.  “If you start the apocalypse, you’ll destroy yourself.  Your dad, he’s convinced you’ll still be his little boy, somewhere in your core, even if you end trillions of lives all over Creation and Earth becomes a pile of goo floating through space.  Even if you end his existence.  I know that, if you do this, you’ll lose that part of yourself that is most important.  Your love, your imagination, your harmless mischief.  There will be no trees to climb and you won’t care because you won’t want to climb them.  Pepper, Wensley, and Brian, they’ll be destroyed and you won’t care because the four horsepeople of the apocalypse will be your friends.  Your dad and I will be forced to kill each other in the war between Heaven and Hell and you won’t shed a tear because Satan will be your father.  I…  I keep telling myself that I have to destroy you…  And you’re right.  I can’t.  I changed your diapers, I weathered your temper tantrums, I was there for every birthday, and I watched you grow and get so clever and make good friends.  You are such a good kid and I am so proud to be your papa.” 

He stared at the low coffee table.  “What will you do, Adam?  Knowing that I can’t stop you and your dad won’t stop you?”

Adam’s bottom lip wobbled.  His face scrunched up as he tried not to cry.  “I don’t _want_ to do anything.  I’m just a kid.  Why do _I_ have to do anything?”

Raphael’s human heart stuttered.  “That’s right – you are just a kid.  And reality will listen to you for now, at least a few more days.  What do you want more than anything, Adam?”

Adam bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor.  The Anti-Christ – also known as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness – had the weight of all Creation on his tiny shoulders.  Wanting to support his son and protect him from the forces of good and evil that depended on him, Raphael manifested a set of his wings and folded one over Adam.  Dog edged away from the physical depiction of holy rapture. 

Adam pulled his legs up onto the couch and hid in the feathers.  “I want this,” he said after what felt like hours but was only minutes.  “Just you and dad and my friends and my life here in Tadfield.  I don’t want to be Satan’s son.  He’s never been there for me.  He never even sent me a birthday card.  You know what?  He’s _not_ my dad.  He never was.  You and dad are my parents, not him.  And, you know what else?  Nevermind with these Horsepeople!  They’re just… nightmares.  Horrible nightmares.  I’ll replace them with my friends.  Pepper will be peace, so there’s no War.  Brian will stand for a clean world and get rid of Pollution.  Wensley always goes on about well-balanced meals, so he’ll take care of Famine.  I suppose we can’t get rid of Death, though.  Then we’d have zombies and such.”  He petted Raphael’s secondaries.  “You and dad will love me even if I’ve not the Anti-Christ, right?  Even if I’m just a normal kid with no powers?  Because you’re my real dads.”

“I love you for you, my sweet boy.”  Raphael pressed a kiss to Adam’s forehead.  “Normal and all.”

The door opened.  Aziraphale stepped inside, looking miffed.  “Adam, did you use your powers to make me go for a walk.”

Adam’s eyes got impossibly wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.  “Yes?”

“Adam, my darling boy, _why_?”

“I wanted to talk to papa.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes dangerously at Adam.  Both papa and son glanced at each other, terrifyingly familiar with that look.

“Was it necessarily a _bad_ walk?” Raphael asked.

“Terrible!  Mr. Tyler – that pretentious neighborhood watchman – stopped me to complain on and on about our Adam getting into his begonias.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said with his biggest, wettest blue eyes. 

Aziraphale held onto his anger for a moment longer before letting it go on a long sigh.  “Well, I’ve certainly done worse in my long existence than make someone go for a walk on a scenic morning and be bothered by nosy neighbors.  Was it a good talk you two had?”

“It was,” Adam admitted.  “I’ve decided.”  He held up a hand and ticked off fingers as he listed, “Satan is not my father.  Famine, Pollution, and War don’t exist.”  He paused, then added, “And Heaven and Hell are not allowed to go to war and destroy the Universe.”

It was as if there was a giant switch in the center of the Universe and both Raphael and Aziraphale felt it turn off at the same time.  The entire Earth quaked and thunder was heard above every city before weather patterns settled back into what they previously were.  Heaven and Hell erupted into chaos as it became suddenly clear that there was no Anti-Christ to herald the apocalypse and Satan demanded to know how he had lost a son. 

An order that had been put in six thousand years ago to International Express caught on fire and the items listed were not to be delivered.  War, Famine, and Pollution found themselves suddenly and without warning removed from existence.

“That’s a lot of big decisions,” Aziraphale said. 

“Good ones too, I think,” Raphael added.

The demon nodded.  “Shall we celebrate with some ice cream and leftover birthday cake?”

“We haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Adam pointed out, confused.  Their day had, after all, started very late.

“My dear boy.”  Aziraphale patted Dog on the head and burrowed into Raphael’s wing to kiss their son on the temple.  “Today is a special day.  I wouldn’t mind starting it off with something sweet.  Besides – it _is_ almost two in the afternoon.  Hardly out of place.”

“I love you, dad.”  Adam curled his hands around Aziraphale’s wrist.  “Please don’t ever leave me again.”

“Not if I can help it, darling.”

~::~

In minutes, millions of angels and demons were told to stand down.

“Do we know who to blame?” Gabriel asked Lord Beelzebub in a rare show of camaraderie.

Lord Beelzebub was not entirely sure.  It had been discovered just yesterday that Warlock was not the Anti-Christ – the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness – but a normal human boy.  One day later, the Anti-Christ no longer existed and neither did three of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.  Every individual of Heaven and Hell had received a memo saying, ‘Heaven and Hell are not allowed to go to war and destroy the Universe’.  It was indisputable. 

Lord Beelzebub did not know who to blame for all that nonsense necessarily, but one thing was for certain – she knew the identity of the demon who was _supposed_ to make sure that the child ended up with the Dowling family and who had been regularly updating them on Warlock’s supposed growth into evil.  That demon obviously had to be punished for overall incompetency if not outright treason.

“I know where to start,” she said, and she and Gabriel glared understandingly at each other.

“Then let’s go.”

~::~

Aziraphale was serving the cake when there was a knock at the front door.  He and Raphael shared a look.

“Is that them?” Adam asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Aziraphale answered.

“Already?” Adam added.

“Do you think my people or yours?” Raphael asked next.

“Not sure.”

It gave them pause.  Raphael was not supposed to know of this place, after all, and Aziraphale should not open the door if Hell was on the other side lest he risk instant and furious destruction.  Again. 

Aziraphale squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up.  “Stay here with your papa, Adam.  I’ll deal with this.”

“Like _Hell_ ,” Raphael said, and stormed to his feet.  “Stay,” he barked over his shoulder, leaving no room for argument. 

He had lost Aziraphale once.  With Adam renouncing his position as Satan’s son and therefore relinquishing his control over reality, there was no guarantee that he could bring the demon back a second time.

Raphael threw open the door.  Lord Beelzebub and archangel Gabriel gawked at the sight of him.

“ _Raphael_?” Gabriel yelled.  “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, didn’t you get my change of address form almost eleven years ago?”  Raphael had sorted no such thing.  Or, if he had, he had made sure it was immediately lost. 

Gabriel stared at him, dumfounded.  “No.  I didn’t.  Do you realize – you must know that a _demon_ lives here.  Your enemy, Owly.” 

“Actually, he’s my husband.  You didn’t get my marital status change documents either, did you?”  They had never been officially married.

“Your _husband_?”

“What are you playing at?” Lord Beelzebub demanded to know.  She rounded on Gabriel.  “What is your side playing at?”

“ _We_ are not playing at anything.  Clearly, this is a demon in disguise trying to confuse us.  Owly, we know it’s you.  Raphael is an archangel, too Holy and powerful for a foul and lowly demon like you.”

“Right, that’s it.  No one talks down to my husband like that,” Raphael decided.  Then, to leave no doubt that he really was the archangel Raphael, he let free his true form in its Lovecraftian glory.

To understand what that looked like, please refer to one of the most detailed descriptions of an angel given by the prophet Daniel in Daniel 10:5-6, of which stated,

"I lifted up my eyes and looked, and behold, a man clothed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a multitude."

By casting aside his human guise, Raphael revealed himself to be the archangel of healing, known in the Apocryphal Book of Tobit as the Divine Being who bound Asmodeus, “the Worst of Demons”.

He towered over the human-shaped archangel and Duke of Hell.  When he spoke, his words sounded of multitude. 

“ **I am the archangel Raphael, one of the Holy Seven, and I shall not have you speak of Aziraphale like that.** ”  He shrunk back down into his human body.  Best to speak to them, eye-to-eye.  He sniffed.  “So, there’s that.” 

Gabriel tapped Beelzebub on the shoulder.  “What did your demon Owly do to my brother?”

“I don’t know,” the Duke of Hell said slowly.  “I am becoming concerned that I may need to give him a commendation.”

“We are here to _punish_ Owly for delaying Armageddon, not _praise_ him for seducing an archangel!”

“This is an unprecedented situation,” Beelzebub buzzed.  “Back off.” 

“Right.”  Gabriel situated himself.  “Raphael.  Brother.  Please step aside while we deal with the demon Owly and set you free from… whatever he’s done to you.”

“No, I think I’ll stay right where I am.”

“Raphael.  _Move_.”

“Gabriel.  _No_.”

“I am your older brother _and_ your superior, I command you to move!”

“I don’t _care_.”

Gabriel was near as violet in the face as his eyes.  Beelzebub looked thoughtfully about.  “This is collusion,” she announced.  “Apprehend the archangel Raphael and punish him.  With him out of the way, we can punish Owly.” 

“Oh, please, as if Raphael is at all involved in misplacing the Anti-Christ.”  Gabriel scoffed.

“I’ll do you one even better,” Raphael near sang.  “I helped _raise_ the Anti-Christ and he is a marvelously clever boy and his name is _Adam_.  Now, you are interrupting cake and it would be for the best that you _get the Hell out_.” 

They stared at him.

“Leave,” he reiterated.  “Now.”

“I don’t think you’re well, Raphael,” Gabriel said softly, like he was speaking to someone dying of a horribly debilitating disease. 

“Best I’ve ever been, actually.” 

“Papa,” Adam said from behind him.  “Let me try something.”

He cursed under his breath as both Gabriel and Beelzebub’s attention flew to his eleven-year old son.  He flung a pair of wings into existence and blocked his child from sight.

“You won’t _touch_ him!” he hissed at the two occult beings.  “If you try, I will destroy you.”

Beelzebub’s eyes caught something over the span of his wing.  “Traitor Owly!” she stood on the tips of her toes to see the lurking demon better.  “You will return to Hell with me this instant so that you may undergo trial for your acts of treason.  I do believe that your charges have escalated now that we know you have been hiding the Anti-Christ from us and actively played a part in stopping Armageddon.” 

Raphael bared his teeth.  “Oh, that’s _not_ going to happen.  Aziraphale is staying right here.”

“I have ten million angels still ready to fight,” Gabriel told Beelzebub.  “Should I get them?”

“I have ten million demons,” the Duke of Hell muttered thoughtfully.  “Would it be overkill?”

Gabriel gestured wordlessly to a livid archangel of Heaven, a small Anti-Christ, and the Creator of the Original Sin.

“Just enough if we combine our forces,” Beelzebub decided. 

The beginnings of panic swirled inside of Raphael.  That would definitely be overkill.  England would be wiped off the map and, Armageddon or not, all those angels and demons would start fighting with each other. 

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said, putting a light hand on Raphael’s shoulder.  “I’ll go.  Once I am extinct, my spell over Raphael will break and he will return to normal.” 

“Aziraphale, _no_.”

“Dad?”  Adam’s voice quivered.  “What about me?”

Aziraphale smiled down at their son.  “You’re not important anymore.  Not to Heaven or Hell.  You are just a boy, like many other boys in the world.  I am sure that Raphael, a righteous and good archangel when he is not under the wiles of a demon, will continue to care for you till such a time you do not need tending.”  He brushed aside Adam’s wild hair.  “I do adore you.  Please do not ever forget that.”

“This is sickening,” Beelzebub buzzed.  “Come, Owly.”

Raphael spread his wings and refused to let Aziraphale leave the house.  “You’re not going anywhere,” he told his lover.

“Oh, do you have a plan?  A single better plan for taking on twenty million occult beings?”

He didn’t.

“I’m not losing you again, dad,” Adam swore.  “I’m _not_.” 

“Oh, my darling boy.  There is nothing you can do.”

“There _is_.”

The eleven-year old boy, no longer the Anti-Christ – also known as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness – stomped right past both his fathers even as their wildly grasping hands and powerful wings tried to stop him.  Dog loped after him, eyes glowing red, and snapped at Beelzebub’s ankle when she stood over the child in an intimidating manner. 

The Duke of Hell glanced at the small terrier and gasped in horror.  “ _This_ is the hellhound?!”

“I thought it would be bigger,” Gabriel remarked.

“It _was_.”

“I wanted a small dog,” Adam informed them.  “And I want both of you gone and I don’t ever want to see you again.  I want Heaven and Hell to leave us alone.” 

Gabriel chuckled.  “Aren’t you adorable.  Listen, boy, Heaven and Hell are not happy with you either.  We have been planning Armageddon for _millennia_.” 

“I don’t care!” Adam yelled at him.  “I want Heaven and Hell to leave my family **alone**!”

The Earth opened beneath Lord Beelzebub’s feet and swallowed her whole.  A rift of unfathomable depth appeared in the sky and Gabriel had a very small moment to look alarmed before he was sucked up into it. 

A beautiful blue sky stretched for miles and birds chirped and it was perfect weather for the season.

Raphael and Aziraphale both gaped at their son.

“I thought he didn’t have his powers anymore,” Raphael said.

“I thought he didn’t either.”

Adam glanced at them.  “I needed to try.”  He shrugged helplessly.

Aziraphale wiggled in delight.  “Oh, my darling boy!  You are so clever, so wonderful!” 

“That was very clever,” Raphael couldn’t help but agree.  He pulled his small family into the span of his wings.  “I love you both so much.” 

~::~

Adam went off to Hogback Wood with his friends less than an hour later after telling off the forces of Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale and Raphael sat in the living room, staring blankly at the telly. 

“Do you think…  It worked?  Do you think Heaven and Hell will leave us alone now?”

Raphael shrugged.  “Adam said so…  Seemed to still have a say over reality and such.”

“I’ll be Damned twice,” the demon whispered.  “We _did_ raise him right.”

“For awhile there, I wasn’t sure it could be done.”  Raphael rested his head on the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling.  “I thought…  I thought the worst.  That I’d have to do the worst thing imaginable.”

“I know.”

“Why’d you let me stay, then?”

“I knew you’d see the truth and change your mind.”

Raphael rolled his head to glance at his lover.  “If I hadn’t?”

Aziraphale twisted his head to stare at him.  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?  You made the right choice.  Our son is a happy, normal boy, Armageddon has been averted, and we don’t have to worry about any repercussions.”

“Still anxious, though.”

“As am I.”  He put his hand high on Raphael’s thigh.  “Would you… like to work off some energy?  Since we appear to have a little bit of adult time before Adam comes back.”

Raphael brushed his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek.  With that hand, he pulled the demon into the softest embrace of lips.  His other arm slithered around his love’s shoulders, holding him close as he deepened the kiss.  Aziraphale was soft and lax against him, whole and alive.  He relinquished control with a sigh and let Raphael lead the dance of tongues, let the archangel pull him into his lap. 

“I’d just like to hold you, if that’s alright,” Raphael admitted quietly.  “Make sure you’re actually here.”

“I am here.”  To prove his point, he dug a hand under Raphael and pinched his bum.  “See?  As real as can be.”

“You posh _bastard_.”

Aziraphale smiled charmingly.  “No need to use that sort of language.”

Raphael laughed helplessly.  “I love you.  I love you, do you know that?”

“I believe it a little more every time you tell me.”  He kissed Raphael just under his jaw.  “And I, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I believe that Arthur Young's child would not run in the same circle as the Them. This is only because I had already written most of the story beforeI realized that the Young family were still in possession of their own child since Aziraphale wasn't wildly incompetent and didn't accidentally switch theirs out.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fallen not from grace , but the sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193964) by [Illusion of Better (BlackCatSlytherin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCatSlytherin/pseuds/Illusion%20of%20Better)




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